


Making Mythologies

by Etnoe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Consent Issues, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Game Over Timeline, M/M, Metamorphosis, Mind Control, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Scent Kink, Sex Toys, Smuppets, Sober Gamzee Makara, Universe Alteration, Worldbuilding, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14104704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/pseuds/Etnoe
Summary: When Sburb is more or less beaten, Bro's life takes a turn for the ... interesting.(TG: provide a juggalo with regular deepdickings or downtown houston will die)And increasingly pornographic.





	1. But you can't be any geek off the street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was started pre-retcon, and goes AU off that timeline rather than including much of post-retcon or Hiveswap elements. It will also be going with the view of Bro I took at that point, which was that he was significantly a disaster but nowhere near as grimly messed up as canon eventually confirmed. Ditto for his relationship with Dave.
> 
> The inspiration is a kink meme prompt, which is copied at the end of chapter 1.

 

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began trolling puppetPeddler [PP] --   
  
TG: sup bro

Thirteen years of preparation: at its peak. In the instant before opening his eyes, Bro had returned to his mind and body knowing that he had been beaten, useless, only his fuck-ups left to speak for him... But this was what he got in return. Look at Dave, starting things up so sharp, so chill, the end of the world coming in second to his state of realness. Alive and killing it.

PP: yeah sup lil man  
TG: i just called  
TG: to say  
TG: you have to fuck a juggalo

OK, revise that assessment. Li'l bro didn't do the absurdist thing offline; so far it had been confined to webcomics or the occasional doodle he wasn't fast enough to stuff down his shirt or, that one time, eat. The hint of emotion via a damn Stevie Wonder song was a real nice touch, though. Altogether it was pretty good mysterious bullshit, but it didn't jam with Dave's expected frame of mind.

PP: elaborate  
TG: provide a juggalo with regular deepdickings or downtown houston will die  
TG: this juggalo

He sent a link. Bro spent some time studying the photograph.

TG: just wanted to make sure you know this is serious before the juggalos buddy messages you to explain better  
TG: also im going to kick your ass when were in meatspace again  
TG: if i even feel like it  
TG: bye bro  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased trolling puppetPeddler [PP] -- 

The juggalo didn't look like anyone famous, internet-famous, or notably notorious, though the paint did obscure the natural lines of the guy's face. Did he look kind of high/shitfaced/not all there? Probably a teenager? The background didn't look like the average setup for a cosplay photoshoot - it could have been a fairly upmarket hotel lounge, but only the most hipster boutique hotel would go for that eye-searing colour scheme. _Dave_ was being all _"I'm going to kick your ass"_? Anyway. Checking properly for signs of photoshopping could wait till later, but there weren't any obvious giveaways. Pesterchum had got "trolling" slapped over the coding - hadn't Dave hated the weird pack of trolls that bugged him and his buddies via a chat client that used that phrasing?

Bro had barely begun to kick an MO loose out of the near-complete lack of context when there was another chat notification chime, so he went with the priority list he'd established when he'd woken up from a dead sprawl on the floor.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling puppetPeddler [PP] --   
  
CG: DAVE SAID YOU'D BE EXPECTING ME.  
PP: first things first. how's bird dave  
PP: fluffy orange lil fuck, you know him? didn't get a shot to ask what i'm assuming is dude dave. if you don't know then get dude dave back on here  
CG: LET A GUY GET OFF A DECENT "GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS, ALIEN" FIRST, WOULD YOU?   
CG: OR HEY, I COULD SOLICIT FIRST-HAND FEEDBACK ON THAT SEMI-NEW UNIVERSE WE'RE CONFIGURING FROM OVER HERE, WOULD BE GOOD TO KNOW HOW THAT GIFT BESTOWED UPON YOU FROM ON HIGH IS WORKING OUT. THAT'S A MATTER OF SOME IMPORT.  
CG: BUT HE'S FINE. AND GOES BY DAVESPRITE.  
PP: what's he doing right now  
CG: HE'S LENDING ASSISTANCE IN REJIGGERING THE GAME. YOU KNOW, ***THE*** GAME?  
PP: i have had hints

Only occasionally impaled through his chest. Might be he'd have a looser hand with the asterisks, if it came to that.

Dave _sprite_. Thank almighty fuckdamn for the way the Game affected reality, so even if it was beat or restored to save-point or whatever, something that had been made part of the Game could still exist. That orange version of his bro come to fight beside him had been as familiar as he should be despite the metamorphosis, chasing the same battle the same way as him without a word needed between them... And he was alive. Still, instead of again, Bro suspected; seemed like the Dave Little League was beating up the Bro Pro Team behind the stadium, the glorious nailbat-swinging tykes. Dave-fuckin'-sprite. That was going to be a turn-up for the fake identity documents.

CG: I HOPE EXPOSURE TO THE EXTREMES INVOLVED IN THAT INTERCOSMIC DISASTER SPLURGE WILL RENDER YOU MORE WILLING TO LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY. BUT YEAH, DAVESPRITE IS DOING FINE, NO LINGERING INJURIES EXCEPT THE BASELINE STANDARD SWORD THROUGH CHEST, BECAUSE THAT'S APPARENTLY JUST WHERE HE LIKES TO KEEP IT. I'LL ASK HIM TO TROLL YOU SOON, OK?  
PP: go on and shoot that alien greetings wad now. plus assorted other info e.g. juggalo-fucking necessities i heard somethin bout.  
PP: planetary construction on the backburner except in immediate case of more god damn meteors  
CG: NO METEORS! NO MORE UNHOLY SCREAMING AS TRILLIONS PERISH! IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAY, WITH THE ULTIMATE IN EXOTIC NUBILE YOUNG CONCUBINES TOSSED IN FREE!!!!!

Young, huh. He'd judged that part of the photo right - that was a teenager. And Dave had vouched for all this, so _some_ degree of seriousness had been involved during the manufacturing process.

Also, alien. There was a plurality of aliens in the mix, given that the photo made it look like this didn't involve the medieval-fantasy chess people that came coded into the Game, so the latest species must have a whole different set-up.

Fuckin',

'kay.

PP: keep making with the info.  
CG: GOD. LOOK, SORRY, THIS IS TERRIBLE, I'M BEING TERRIBLE ABOUT IT. CONTEXT: THAT PHOTO DAVE SENT WAS OF MY BEST FRIEND. MY BEST FRIEND IS AN INCREDIBLE PIECE OF SHIT WHO OUT OF THE GOODNESS AND PREDICTABLE WEAKNESSES OF MY UNSPECIFIC INNARDS I WOULD PREFER NOT TO SEE DEAD  
CG: OR, AND THIS IS YOUR RELEVANT HIGHLIGHT, KILLING OTHER PEOPLE.  
CG: DAVE SAID PRETTY MUCH THE SAME. WITHOUT THE "BEST FRIEND" PART, WHICH HE DOESN'T GET, FOR WHICH, WHO COULD BLAME HIM.  
CG: MY BEST F(R)IEND ENDED UP ON THE SEMI-NEW PLANET THAT YOU CURRENTLY OCCUPY AND WHICH THE REST OF US WON'T REACH FOR A SIGNIFICANT UNNAMED LENGTH OF TIME, BECAUSE OTHERWISE THINGS WOULD NOT BE DIFFICULT ENOUGH.  
CG: HE IS A GENUINE AND SERIOUS MENACE TO SOCIETY. HE IS OUT OF HIS GODDAMN GOURD, HE HAS NEVER BEEN AROUND MORE THAN MAYBE FIFTEEN PEOPLE AT ONCE, KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT HUMAN SOCIETY EXCEPT THE BITS THAT SEND HIM SPIRALLING INTO RAGE OR ROSE CAN'T SHUT UP ABOUT, AND IN ADDITION IS UNDERGOING TROLL PUBERTY. PROBABLY ALL PUBERTY COUNTS AS TROLL PUBERTY GOING BY WHAT I'VE LEARNED FROM DAVE AND ROSE OVER THE PAST UNNAMED LENGTHY UNIT OF TIME, BUT TRUST ME, IT'S NOT DOING HIS BOUTS OF GOD-COMPLEX PSYCHOSIS AND VIOLENCE AND THE FUCKING SULKING FITS ANY FAVOURS.  
CG: AND MOOD SWINGS? I'M NOT SURE IF THEY COUNT AS MOOD SWINGS OR LASER-POINT ACCURACY IN CHOOSING HOW TO BE THE WORST ASSHOLE, ADAPTING TO MATCH ANY OCCASION.  
CG: IF I WERE THERE, I COULD MITIGATE IT BEFORE IT CAME TO BLOOD BEING SHED. SINCE I'M NOT, YOU CAN.  
CG: ALSO YOUR DICK.  
CG: * "DICK"  
CG: IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THE MIRACLE OF MUTATING HORMONES. AND JUST HAVING SOME KIND OF A POSITIVE CONNECTION I GUESS, EVEN IF IT'S NOT FULL ON PALE PALS RUBBING LINIMENT ON EACH OTHER'S SPRAINS.  
CG: IGNORE THE PALE BIT, THAT CAN BE EXPLAINED LATER.  
CG: IN ALL THE FACT-BASED HONESTY I CAN POUND THROUGH MY KEYBOARD AND INTO THIS CHAT WINDOW, HOWEVER MUCH ANY NUMBER OF PEOPLE MIGHT WISH IT WASN'T SO: SETTLING DOWN THE IMPULSES BORNE FROM THE MOST ACTIVE HORMONES AND INDUCING SOME SUBMISSION-RELATED ONES INSTEAD IS ABOUT THE ONLY THING THAT COULD HELP THE SITUATION WHILE KEEPING EVERYONE ALIVE.  
CG: YOU TWO JUST NEED TO MAKE GOOD FRIENDS VIA YOUR GENITALIA AND EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE.  
CG: I MEAN IT REALLY CAN'T BE THAT DIFFICULT.  
CG: FUCK.  
PP: a/s/l  
PP: atmospheric requirements, sex (as verb), liabilities  
PP: /f. standing for fuckin what's your pet piece of shit eat  
PP: /fc. first contact. when do i get an opinion direct from you and dave's icpal  
CG: MAYBE DON'T CALL HIM AN ICKPAL TO HIS FACE? HE'S HEARD WORSE. HE'S ALSO REMEMBERED IT FOR A REALLY LONG TIME IN ORDER TO FUCK PEOPLE UP FOR IT BEYOND REASON WHEN LEAST EXPECTED.  
PP: a brother repeats: a/s/l/f/fc  
PP: found him online btw  
PP: he is sitting around on a sidewalk near a fast food place. bystanders keeping a distance, no blood  
CG: SIGNIFICANT QUANTITIES OF PURPLE LIQUID THAT YOU WOULDN'T KNOW TO CLASSIFY AS BLOOD?  
PP: none visible on amateur shakycam  
PP: subtract the atmosphere question. his lungs aren't dissolving or nothing.  
CG: OKAY! HERE'S THE SHORT TO-THE-POINT VERSION, A THING I AM EMINENTLY CAPABLE OF!  
CG: A AND F, DON'T WORRY ABOUT EITHER. TROLLS AND HUMANS ARE EXTRA-DIMENSIONALLY RELATED AND DESPITE SOME VERY REAL DIFFERENCES, ROUGHLY THE SAME THINGS MEAN GOOD HEALTH FOR BOTH SPECIES. MAYBE HE NEEDS MORE MEAT THAN THE AVERAGE HUMAN WOULD.  
CG: L CAN WAIT. YOU'VE GOT THE MOST IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT THAT. JUST STAY READY FOR STRIFE. REALLY FUCKING READY, OKAY? HIS SHIT HEAD AND STRIFE DECK ARE FULL OF SURPRISES. FULLER DETAILS WHEN TIME IS NOT OF THE ESSENCE, JUST TROLL ME.  
CG: S, GENITALS ARE REASONABLY ANALOGOUS TOO, I AM ASSURED BY PARTIES WHO DECLINE TO BE NAMED AT THIS JUNCTURE. YOU KNOW, JUST, GO BETWEEN THE LEGS. HAVE A DISCREET YET SIZEABLE CONTAINER ON HAND FOR COLLECTING GENETIC MATERIAL.  
CG: FC: I'LL PUT HIM IN TOUCH WITH YOU. I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. THE MOST BASIC POINT OF DECENCY, AT LEAST, HAS BEEN REACHED IN THIS RIDE ON THE DISASTER MASS TRANSIT RAIL.  
CG: NOW DON'T BREAK HIM OR ANYTHING  
CG: IT WILL END BADLY FOR EVERYONE.  
  
\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG ] ceased trolling puppetPeddler [PP] --

 

\-- terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling puppetPeddler [PP] --   
  
TC: hi dirk senior.  
TC: I HEAR TELL YOU'RE ABOUT TO UP AND DO ME THE MOST AWKWARD FAVOUR THERE COULD BE BEING  
PP: you still at the combination pizza hut and taco bell?  
TC: yeah. came on over here as per special request of dirk junior and it wasn't too fucking far from the crash spot.  
TC: HE'S ALWAYS WANTED TO SAY THAT AND REALLY MEAN IT  
TC: apparently.  
PP: d junior bored or something  
TC: DO I GIVE A FUCK  
PP: fair  
PP: heading out to get you now. estimating 20 min. or if that means nothing to you, any shadows you can see won't shift much before arrival.  
  
\-- puppetPeddler [PP] ceased pestering terminallyCapricious [TC] -- 

Bro took a deep breath and headed out. Saving time, he jumped down the fire escape, then launched from the second-floor level onto the top of a bus to start traffic-surfing. Classic urban ninja bullshit. Davesprite was going to put all of that to shame with his built-in method of transportation, but Bro could teach Dave for his next birthday. They could start out with bumper cars. Shit, they ought to go to Disney Land.

As for "Dirk Junior", fuck jesus dicking christ on the idea of that guy getting learned up on anything before there was an explanation for his existence. What the fuck. Who the fuck. Why. Was there some way Bro went and got himself called Dad after all, and then legacy'd the kid hardcore by giving him the same name, like a douchebag? Maybe because of Sburb's time-travel horseshit? A bizarro-world version of him that came packaged up with Davesprite?

Bro rolled off a Mack truck, down onto an SUV heading the wrong way, but getting him closer to a cab that would make up for it. Couldn't do a thing to deal with "Junior", except chalk up more extra sets of bedding to buy, so better deal with immediate issues.

How for real could it be that he was supposed to fuck one of Dave's friends? The juggalo kid called it a favour, first off. Plus Dave was backing it up. And the real reason Dave ought to visit Disney Land was because deep in his dear li'l heart was a natural-born Care Bear who should have a chance to return to the happy little bluebirds and rainbows of his homeland, with his killer instinct coming hella second-hand (one way that Bro grudgingly admitted Lalonde's kid had him beat hands down). Normally Dave wouldn't say a word for a month if he thought Bro was banging a twink too teeny, like, not half a stray, mumbled lyric. Then there was the capslock compadre, fronting with a lot of rage and burdened with what no sexin' meant for the safety of everyone around the clown, but worrying on a personal level, too.

Bro leaped off the back wheel-guard of one last motorbike, then landed at the back of the crowd around the alien. There was whispering on this side of it; at the front, a few tentative questions met by growls that would put a provoked pit bull to shame.

"Hey, TC. I made it," Bro said, voice projected for the stage, and shoved through. When his direction became clear, some people tried to grab hold of him and some jumped out of the way; the crowd-beast went still and nervous, as he progressed to the open space up front.

OK, being a juggalo was one thing, and a thing that Bro had not expected to be the lesser part of a comparison, but that purple pajama costume was next-level shit. What kind of hat was that to wear all blithe in public.

 _Focus, asshole._ Real assessment: That sure wasn't an example of being blithe. The kid was sitting and staring, no attention to spare, at his ... laptop, squishy and organic-looking though it was. But he had prominent, mobile ear-shells, so that it was a visible motion that he listened to Bro's approaching footsteps, and he'd stiffened. Given his body looked pretty human ("extra-dimensionally related", huh), it had to be from nerves. When Bro came to a stop in front of him, TC took a quick look up, then indulged in a moment more of staring-at-the-screen stiffness. His arms dangled at his side, and for an instant his hands clenched into a grip on the kerb.

"Strider," the kid said, and got to his feet. The laptop got an over-the-shoulder toss into his sylladex, careless enough that TC looked back in vague surprise that it had been captchalogued instead of pancaked on the sidewalk. And then, as Bro noticed the codpiece, the kid thankfully spoke again and distracted him. "So here's our real-life hi there all up and happening already. I motherfuckin' guess."

"Thisaway." Bro jerked a thumb in the direction he'd come from. The crowd parted easily, now. And this time, there was the echo of footsteps behind him, tweaking his _being followed_ sense in the reassuring way. It was shocking with familiarity - it fit into the groove of something that had occurred a million times with his li'l bro.

TC didn't look thirteen. Small mercy. If Bro was getting people pimped out at him, in that as in most of life he preferred to start from at least barely legal with options open to work his way up. He was not, of course, going to fuck the kid - he respected the dedication to a particular aesthetic that was fulfilled by a sleepover at a Renfaire version of the Gathering of the Juggalos, but he didn't have to stick his dick in it. That was what sex toys were for. But at least Dave hadn't come to him with the expectation he might get boners popping for the barely-pubescent.

The kid's growl was on a comeback tour. There was yelping and startled shouts in the crowd from people getting pushed by how fast the folks up front were making way.

"Introductions," he said. "Call me Bro, if you don't want to stick with Strider. Got no nevermind about your preference."

A stutter in the growl, like an engine choking. "Gamzee Makara," his latest outer space roomie admitted grudgingly. Well, technically Bro was an outer space roomie himself. They could get matching slogan jackets.

"Is there anything to pick up at your crash spot? There's space in my sylladex." Could do with another horse.

"I UP AND GOT that junked shit already."

Oh well - horseless state set to continue. A related question: "Hungry?"

"Nah. Aw, hey ... hold on up. I was not," the kid said. And then, the next instant, more outraged in his surprise than was at all warranted: "Now I AM!"

Allllll right then, basic bottom-rung Maslow's needs were the enemy. _An_ enemy. Not what he'd predicted even for the worse scenarios.

Bro allowed a glance over his shoulder. The kid was following, but he was giving distracted, increasingly frustrated looks at the surroundings, eyes and ears flicking all around. His hands were coming up curved to claw, and he was starting to stumble. Bro had made rookie error - he'd overlooked that being in a city could be all the stimulus required for losing your shit, if you'd lived the kind of isolated life CG had implied. (How did the presence of a couple million people stack up against living through an apocalypse, possibly two - his own species' and maybe the human one? Could be he was Game-built to handle the latter scenario, while the other wasn't featured in his nature or nurture.) The kid didn't have control of anything around him, so now it must be hitting him hard that he didn't have normal control of himself, either.

"I got cash," Bro said. "We'll stop by a steakhouse up ahead. Right over there. No dawdling now." He pointed at the restaurant sign down the block, keeping an eye on the kid's expression until understanding made an appearance, and sped up.

"Sure, oh yeah, _you_ got cash," the kid muttered. "Got currency, got your whole of living on right here, the ways, means, and methods..." And then he subsided. He kept up with the pace, fixing his gaze on their destination.

It was early enough in the day that the restaurant had few tables occupied, and it was not classy enough for anybody to do more than perform facial gymnastics about the kid's outfit. They'd better be out of here before lunchtime and more clientele came around, so Bro ordered a plain T-bone with BBQ sauce on the side, water, and a beer while they were accompanied to their table. He'd been planning to get fast food so they could get to the apartment faster, but the steakhouse was quiet and dimly lit, which had to be better than a busy downtown morning.

"Gamzee." He had to get used to the name. The two of them were going to be tight, after all - that was the job description: a positive, friendly connection, plus orgasms. "I don't know enough. Gimme the skinny on the situation. I'ma sit quiet right here, and tune in to your educational channel. Take it away, man, it's your show."

Speaking at the table top, the kid's voice reverberated like a preacher's. "This is not the world I wanted. This is not a world I want to be alone on."

There it ended.

Bro wasn't exactly in on how friendly and positive connections went. Not like _this_ , sure, but to get the attempt back on track? Damn, boy, anybody's guess could fly.

He leaned back in his seat with a squeak of the pleather upholstery. "Education achieved. Now it's my turn. Right now, the plan's to test what you can eat. Have a bite, chew it slow, wait a while to see how you react. I've been told by CG it's probably fine, but it's better to make sure and do it early on.

"Then it's a return to the Strider apartment, which is where we're going to be staying. We can take a taxi for that so we don't have to walk all that way.

"And then nobody does one single thing to nobody until you do feel like talking it through, and talking's only the first step. It's a hands-off process for more steps after that."

"So the dinner date ain't gonna lead to fooling around right off?" Pissed off though Gamzee was, he made himself squirm uncomfortably with that line. "Yeah, OK. Fine, brother."

"Questions," Bro demanded.

The kid had sounded like he was gearing up for the fire-and-brimstone part of a preacher's repertoire, but he whispered his response. "Could be we ought to strife? Then the hands-off process, that can start on up after."

"Sounds like a plan." Get a sword to the kid's - Gamzee's throat and then let him up: that would show him that he was safe. Safety was someplace on the hierarchy of needs too. In fact, Bro wouldn't put a mark on him throughout the fight.

The meal went fine. Nobody said a word to them except for the waiter, Gamzee lost no further shit, and the food and drink didn't cause any biological reactions. (Now, how about medical care if he _did_ get sick from something? Got to get some kind of a jacked-up first aid kit. Harley could hook a brother up - that dude had access to all sorts of things and people, and fewer questions than Doc Lalonde could fire off.) When Gamzee was halfway through, Bro called his least dodgy transport contact for a vehicle, whichever one had the highest ceiling, to accommodate the horns.

A van was waiting when they got out. Gamzee was surprised when Bro motioned him to get in, like there would be a gotcha, then scowled at the back seat and twisted to get the wings off his outfit. But he did it in a way that was all ease, like turning himself into a knot was effortless - balancing on one leg so the other foot could hold the wings against his back instead of letting them fall, as his hands undid the ties and he peered over his shoulder.

Flexible. Hm. Better check out the bod while he was distracted, to stay ethically up to scratch.

Gamzee was awkwardly proportioned - on the short side, but with dangling arms that would give significant reach. Probably due for growth spurts for another couple years. But his movements said that he knew what demands he could make of his body. Seemed to be playing the clown theme to the acrobatic hilt. Was there going to be Egbert style pie-to-the-face fighting? Aw, Bro couldn't make "cream" jokes if there was.

No party van jokes, either, even if the way Gamzee was having a face-off with the van's open door was begging for it. He muttered, "Never been in..." and then just clutched his wings closer and ducked inside.

Once he was slumped enough, the horns didn't give any trouble. As they drove, he kept an eye on what was visible through the window from his position and had roughly five reactions per minute to it, all twitchy. He swore when he saw somebody on a unicycle go by on the sidewalk, jerking up to turn and watch, hilariously jealous.

"I got half of one in storage. Could fix it up, if you wanna try it," Bro said.

"The fuck would half a unicycle be?" said the driver, at the same time as Gamzee said, "Motherfucking why WOULD you?"

Bro spoke to the driver, edging with precision towards belligerent: "How come you're watching what we're watching, ma'am?" There was no point replying to Gamzee as he slid further down the seat and into the corner it formed with the door, wary eyes on the driver. Bro kept up dialogue with the driver, turning it around to be the kind of semi-professional small talk that went with forced proximity and the hope that there would be no falling asleep at the wheel. It would show that there was nothing to be scared of, only mildly annoyed by.

Nope, didn't work. When they got to their building, Bro got out, then had to step a few metres away before Gamzee decided there was enough space for him to risk following. He wasn't moving with ease anymore, stumbling as he popped out of the van with his goofy cosplay wings pressed close. Plus point: the things glittered without shedding glitter everywhere. Seemed like he had a good hand with his crafts.

Hey, bonding activity. Crafting of whatever kind would be even better than a fight. Once Gamzee was used to smuppets, or maybe in order to get him used to them, they could compare end products. Friendly positivity, here we come.

"You ready for strife?" Bro asked once they were in the building foyer.

Gamzee was breathing through his nose harshly enough to hear, raising the expectation of steam coming out of his head at any second like he was a cartoon bull, his chest and shoulders heaving. Ready was for pussies, and _he_ was simply at the pre-leaping phase of tearing a throat out.

"Solid. Let's get up the stairs over there. It's a good warm-up."

Gamzee ran for it once they were in the narrow stairwell, bypassing Bro. His arms were free so he must have captchalogued the wings, but he hadn't taken out a weapon yet. Fell twice, taking a hit to the chin and on his left side once each, managed to give his chin another hard hit with his own knee as his run turned into a four-limbed scramble, and twice did faultless vaults from one floor to the next by making use of the railings. The cool shit didn't make him feel better, the failures didn't register. He banged through the door at the top with no regard for the lock, which was going to result in all-caps threats around the foyer and elevators about vandalism.

Facing the depths of the sky with his head craned right back, and then turning to take in the towering buildings around them, he stopped in the middle of the rooftop and lowed out weird sounds. Mournful.

"What? View seems OK," Bro said. Talking didn't fit with his strife headspace, but he equipped a sword and told himself to buddy up, bitch. "Planet Earth really that disappointing?"

"There was telling round the game and our old planet about how it's supposed to be ours. EVERYTHING said ... it's ours to rule!"

God complex, check.

"Plainly it's no such sort of paradise. It's whole and all unknown, is the fuck what! Built and grown of its own self, and now it up and looks like, like back ... home. Could see a view almost like this city on every other broadcast. BUT EACH LITTLE SHITTY SPACE HERE is filled in tidy by some human as don't have to expend a sponge twitch about it, and ... and I..."

 _Have a real-life cartoon hammer in my strife deck, a-fucking-parently_ , Bro finished. Literally it was something baby Dave would have gone apeshit over and gummed for ten full minutes, and yet it signalled the start of the fight. That was showdown body language right there, so OK, Bro had to roll with the rainbow-striped toy with ... _surreality_ vibing off it? Just more video game-style tools. Maybe primed to play a cute 8-bit tune as it made critical hits, but whatev

So, Gamzee could flashstep.

The kid was lost to any sense but instinct. Bro's had him flashstepping away from where he stood in the next split instant, and the hammer whistled through the air near his head.

\--right hip

\--right arm

\--left arm

\--head, except it was to try and catch a leg on downswing, fuck you, wow, _good_ try, kid. Probably even Doc Lalonde's sweetie-butt babbucakes didn't have this level of commitment to being vicious, aside from the time Lalonde had gone and called the kid by that term of endearment out loud. The snapshots of Rose's ensuing tantrum had been a sight to impress.

Also, Gamzee wasn't crying, thank fuck. Shit was looking to get awkward for a second there.

Flashstepping demanded a full-body commitment that ought to mean Gamzee lost a moment to winding up a good and hard hit with the hammer, but there was a whole other level of strength in those long arms that negated the need. Best remember how he'd broken the rooftop door open. Alien.

It was also like something inspired by the _Alien_ franchise, because Gamzee had a talent for getting behind him in a horror-movie blur. Deploying a tactic literally all the time was dumb, except that didn't make the kid any less out of sight and on the offense.

Workable.

Easy advantage: terrain. It cost a lot of pirouetting to deal with Gamzee's lurker attacks, but Bro led the fight around the rooftop. He launched from and protected his back with the knot of air-conditioning units, and moved away before Gamzee could get a feel for how they were laid out. Taking it to the water tower, they darted up and down the metal spars until he swung off, right before Gamzee set the tower rattling and ringing with a strike of the hammer. He came out of the noise dizzy - and then Bro quickly got him to swing the hammer with enormous dedication, right at the gravelly patch that reliably challenged Dave's footwork after a long enough fight.

Ass over tits in a spray of grit. Boom. Gamzee was going to have to take one mark - with him still holding the hammer, Bro had to smash the sword hilt into his wrist to disarm him, knocking it away.

Gamzee was back on his feet faster than it was natural to expect, but with a sword in hand it was nonetheless natural for Bro to match that speed. It was almost choreography to have his opponent's moves lead so surely into an abrupt stop: blade snugged to the neck, its flat pressing against the chin.

Count to five.

Point made - Bro put his sword back in his strife deck. "Getting yours?" He jerked his chin at the hammer. And he wasn't subtle about hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, fingers splayed open. See, man, not even a fistkind offense to offer here. "Figure we got an idea of each other now."

"Fuck," Gamzee blurted. "Yeah."

Sounded like those were almost two halves of the same sentiment. Unexpected. Promising. Even better, the hammer popped back onto a strife card and shuffled away.

"Wrist?" Bro said.

"Never better." Then he licked it like a dog would lick at an open wound, anyway, so it could stand a closer look once they were in the apartment. "That was. Bro, I... You didn't even up and kick my ass and you kicked my ass!"

"Cheered me up too."

"It'll motherfucking work," Gamzee said through dwindling disbelief, eyes on him like he was riveting. They were big and yellow, animalistic and humanoid at once. "You can handle it, like Dave said! Thought this strife was gonna be about putting the fear in you in demonstration as why actually you got to square shove it in my scream funnel first. But ... shit's on lock."

"Like nighttime at the state pen bathrooms."

Gamzee swallowed visibly on the hope. "I gotta, uuuhh. Motherfucker, there's being one last thing, if this thing is really going to be working. Maybe we might be having more strife? Shit. But let me show you..." His sylladex flashed like a Vegas disco ball, and then spat out a little baseball cap.

Puppet-sized, as a matter of fact. The colour was counter to expectation, green instead of orange, but the size and shape indicated expert reproduction work.

"Where's Cal," Bro said, and then made a point to himself of maintaining his stance exactly as it was. This was not an issue to get shaky about. "The rest of him."

"Couldn't get that ball-jointed bro's head off for a good goodbye. That's being an ability no motherfucker can have, way that legend lays it down, so this alone was what I could up and get off him. For the showing, to you and Junior."

"I know he doesn't break easy, I teethed on the damn thing! So where is he?"

"Dust and drifting, Bro," he said with solemnity. "If that much an existence is up and allowed to what its wreck once was." Then there was probably time that passed, and the next thing Gamzee said was, "Shit. SHIT! I didn't do ANYTHING!"

He seemed unexpectedly unclear on the difference between murder and a guy keeling over and taking the opportunity to lie still. Bro was obviously breathing. The only difference, surely unnoticeable, was that it required a conscious reminder to keep it deep and regular like the fighter he was supposed to be. His faculties were actually coming back, too, instead of silting into silence, irreparable and ever fewer ... so, clearly alive.

Cal had been with him in the fatal fight. Now Bro had fought without using or missing him. He'd treated this random guy as important without Li'l Cal, he'd woken up and hadn't checked where Li'l Cal was around the apartment. It hadn't been any kind of big deal - there had been barely a minute of regained life to experience before Pesterchum had pinged with Dave's message. Plus, the world existed again. Might as well live in it for real and for good this time, including saving some of the citizenry.

It made sense right up to there. But this kid - unpredictable and unprecedented entity, killer, dude who didn't want to fuck him - how could he have seemed a natural task to take on, take home? Like habit, like more shit to deal with that blended in with the rest, ignoring that for all the days of all the years before this one there had been a comforting hold on Bro, an exact weight hanging on him, a variable voice inside or around or silent with him.

"I'm gonna fuck up."

The brightness of the sky had begun punching stray colours into his vision when Gamzee's face came into sight. Horns and hair, then wide eyes, a slightly gaping mouth. It seemed reasonable to suspect that he was nervous as a grey tongue flicked over his lips, and that the tone of his voice was a suggestion: "So's everybody?"

"You're a fucking alien, babies are way easier. You know - of course you don't, neither of us knows jack shit. But there is a shitton of information about babies. People in the literal street are ready to fall all over themselves to tell you how you're doing it wrong, never mind professionals. You, not a single human being has a clue on. It is not possible not to fuck this up. I'm ... going to."

"So's everybody." Gamzee had propped his hands on his knees to make it easier to keep leaning over Bro. "Not personal as on my circumstantiality, but some or the other thing they tumble into."

Saying _I don't_ was bullshit. Was he trying to bullshit this guy? Why would he? "This is life or death!"

"A brother seems to have his smarts all in alignment for it? Got me fed. Got me on to certainty of how you're gonna pin me throat-to-wall like a flutter-by, as need arises."

"Certainty doesn't exist." Possibly that was a realisation, possibly a dramatisation. Bro found that his whole breathing evenly deal required more strict reminders. "Not further than _shit_ on my entire _life_ , I was making this up. I let you walk around town like I was straight aiming to get you locked in a lab and Area 51'd. Your space crater was still smoking two blocks east, and I made the decision that you strolling down the street is totally legit."

"Aw, fuck, humans do laboratory investigations in aliens too? Just don't tell a motherfucker what an Area 51-ing is. Sounds harshwild." He pulled a face. "Thought there was chill and friendship feelings most always up with you star monkeys. But I guess, um ..." Gamzee leaned a little closer, and yet made his voice louder. "How you been acting's got even a clown feeling his reason was strong on that point. You helping out. 'Cause in actual fact, that is all you have been motherfucking getting up to. It's feeling to be all brighter for being done even without one good word on how to."

"I did it like a damnfool, no-account, total idiot."

"So's everybody. Some of us up and hide it better, though." Gamzee smiled at him.

That still felt unmistakable. The wink, too.

He backed out of sight, leaving Bro squinting in the sunlight he'd been blocking, and with a series of gritty scrapes plopped down on the rooftop and pushed closer until only a few inches separated them. "Uh. So, about what your puppet bro was telling you... Better know, the purpose on that was to get to eat the universe. Pretty much. And, like, the next one after that, and shit."

This kind of revelation might be where the saying _that rings a bell_ came from; the concept picked up sympathetic vibrations, clarity resounding, without thought having to be involved.

"Makes sense," Bro said. (Dubiously audibly, though.)

"There was some of my friends what went full and furious clear on me as I had to quit all that. So here we up and are: Un-ate." A hand swung out to indicate the view of Houston, and then he gave that wrist a few more licks and glanced down.

Bro didn't have a direct response, just the need to tell him, "Cal always did know what to do about Dave." The fuck, his voice wasn't supposed to be sounding like this, what was this meant to accomplish.

"And you. And me, and other fucking tools yet. There was a power jacked in there and knowing all sorts of truths. Never falsehoods, only truths, always meant for breaking. It might not have looked that way to you, though. He could play to the audience."

 _Questions_. In absence of certainty, the fuck else was he gonna have? There were dozens in the wake of that last speech alone. But. Playing to an audience: That was a skill he knew, too. He'd needed to know how to work a room for maximum hustle when putting on his rap shows. His other audiences were gone, but this Gamzee kid had eyes on him. Never mind whatever answers the kid could and was trying to provide, there were way too many to dig into, and he was in himself Bro's problem. Immediately, intimately, and for the long-term. Lying here KO'd by the facts of occupying a renewed world wasn't about to make that time shorter. And Gamzee was squinting something fierce in the sunlight, eyes watering even as he shaded them with one hand.

Bro got to his feet and jerked his chin at the stairwell entrance. Started walking, which made Gamzee get up fast and follow - too close at first, and then a respectable distance. But it probably counted as weirdly far away for most people. He wanted to decide that Gamzee didn't fully trust him yet, but what, actually, did he _know_?

"Hey, Bro, are you uh, down for showing me my new place to be at ... being? Or, all on my honesty, just the place to get all up within sweetest rest."

Was he making an effort to be nice? Because if the kid went to sleep Bro could either think or stop doing it completely. He gave Gamzee a nod and led the way to the apartment, past the booby traps inside, and into Dave's room. Before he could take the bedclothes off to replace them, Gamzee's sylladex erupted and dumped a junk-heap on the floor. Gamzee climbed onto it, nestled in, and yawned with an arm flung over his maw.

"Excuse a brother? I'm going to be out in half of a heartbeat now I'm set up nice on a pile." 

Seemed like the only thing Bro had to do was make sure the crows couldn't get in. Gamzee didn't ask for anything more, anyhow, just watched him check the window and go out the door.

Bro lay down on his futon and continued what he'd been doing on the roof, which was to lose his damn mind.

His puppet _knew shit_. He had always known that his puppet knew shit, so none of this felt completely surprising... Except - he'd also known that it was his own knowledge, a lot of the time. It had felt that way.

Wait, though ... had it been less so in the last few years? Maybe, if he thought back, it could be divided up: a clearer voice when he was a kid; then a retreat; then as the Game came closer, clarity to the semi-sound again - with more intrusion to how it felt, like it fit jaggedly? Or it could have all been pretty much the same, except that there were times when the same quiet little old voice was easier to overlook.

The knowing things gig didn't cover everything. He'd needed to do detail work to supplement what showed up in his head, but ... the key was direction. Outcomes had been obvious, all the necessary paths marked out to travel along. It had remained for him to do whatever it took to get his ride steered down those roads.

All of that was gone. But he was still here. Still had things to do, holy shit, important ones.

No, he was here _again_ : couldn't forget that, and it would not be the case if it wasn't for the kids. They were the cause of his ass being hauled out of getting sent to dev null or whatever. Knowledge and Cal and whatever else there could have been had all let him down utterly in the fight against the chess-piece turned demonic furry. No warning, not a hint of one - as if that had been beyond its reach completely.

That was ... a relief.

Some startling thing twinged in his perceptions. Bro propped himself up on an elbow, scanning the room, listening out. Was his houseguest crying? Yeah, like a verbose baby; words mixed in with whimpers and helpless little wails. The noise was getting louder, then cut out and was replaced by slurred muttering.

"There's no one else. None of them -- oh shit, oh shit -- not in dreams, not up and getting here -- he could be..."

Bro flashstepped around the apartment to get a jug of water and a glass. He stopped to open the bedroom door and show Gamzee what he held, and then upped speed again to leave it on the desk and get out.

A long silence followed. Bro considered that it wasn't like didn't know what actions to take anymore. Grown man right here, with experience of other human beings, mean streets of Houston, the ways of his industries, himself, etcetera. He could not anticipate outcomes, was the thing. Had he helped or made Gamzee nervous? Did it matter long-term or not?

Capslock kid could fill in gaps, right? Bro could get back on chat and...

Hold up.

Hold the fucking phone. As the case may be, hold up on the connection to a private Skaianet server.

CG and the Daves were out there somewhere, doing fine. Didn't necessarily mean the same for the rest of the kids. It meant jack shit for their guardians.

Bro had been trading Game knowledge and suspicions with Lalonde and Egbert for years, the communication first reluctant and piecemeal, and eventually sort of collegial or something. Then there was Harley, staying in touch almost solely via glitchy emails that Lalonde was always complaining fucked up half the Skaianet servers, but a hard man to forget. Bro had a clear image of that turn-of-the-19th-century wonder leaning close over their whiskies and confirming all the conspiracy theories, as well as turning them on their head. The other three guardians had eventually even uploaded snaps of their kids - Egbert getting banned every now and then in order to stop the floodtide - and they'd all traded training tips, and when it had been a long day on whichever side of the continent, they'd talked out worries. Plus, those kids were the rest of Dave's family, tight like they were. Harley's and Lalonde's kids had seemed primed for the Game, but Egbert's little suburban sucker...

Bro hadn't given any of that a thought. Just went into automatic mode. Target: Dave (and Davesprite), mission accomplished. Recalibrate. Target: Gamzee. That was how good he was at taking direction - an attribute literally no one ever had attached to him for a moment of his life, very much including himself.

Was being so fast to accept the whole "bird Dave" concept also fucked up?

But it was his baby brother. Even if the reflex decision came from a plan he only knew part of, a built-in setting he was only just learning had got hammered into him, a handful of ten-dollar words out of a psychology textbook - it wasn't one he'd fight off. Who else was going to be there for a Dave Strider that was no longer human, and why the fuck would Bro be so feeble that he'd let them?

He stopped thinking and went to his computer. One breath in deep through the nose, quiet and steady out through the mouth. Then he logged in on the Skaianet server that he had been granted access to.

If the other guardians were alive, they'd have left messages. He just had to scroll on down to read the latest ones, since older files hadn't been deleted in the past few weeks, as they all locked down their preparations for Sburb. (And John's thirteenth birthday with its thirteen kinds of cake, all of which research proved existed, and were not made up for the occasion in unhinged fatherly enthusiasm.)

Skimming it would be enough. _A quick look, come on._

_Quit being a pussy._

[Truth_Anon] was so, so proud of his boy, and all John's friends, old and new; carapacian, troll and human ... including (NO LEG-PULLING I ASSURE YOU) teenaged versions of some of them - the players' guardians - that came from an alternate timeline. He was also proud of the OG guardian posse, natch.

Dirk Junior, explained. Well, shit. But if Egbert was taking this tone, John's foolish ass had to be fine, right along with Jade and Rose. Little bro still had his crew. From the names catching his eye further down the folder, Bro kind of had the same.

[Cant_Anon] was a snotty mess of happy tears. And switching departments at Skaianet from techno-biological interfaces to bio-tech everything elses, planning to throw double middle fingers all the way down the hallway that led away from the Game tech. And hooking up with [Truth_Anon] asap. ;-* (that'sa Kiss!)

What the fuck. They couldn't have paid more attention to hating the Game than macking on fellow non-players? But everything had, obviously, turned out fine. Starting shit was so yesterday; yesterday was a long, deep sleep away.

It was actually mildly entertaining to look at the logic puzzle element to that relationship, fitting together Lalonde with her tendency to go into party-gal spirals and Egbert, source of all things suburban and repressed. Better not mention that either, since Bro wasn't in the mood to stir anything up. They were both of the body bodacious school, so they'd have fun figuring it out, at least.

[Ghost_Anon] had left his own messages for once, go figure, instead of routing them through Lalonde via email. And ... was dead. Thought the screen handle would ease you in but........guess it just gave me a start on a pranksters gambit haha! Look its a shocker I know but lads and lady, its been a decade or something already who can even keep track\--

Right, this was supposed to be a skim-read, which had clearly been the correct decision. Bro typed up a message file of his own.

[Adamant_Anon]  
got two kids heading my way, [D] and d-sprite. game did some shit  
and an alien's living with me - troll who showed up early. i guess we can use names on here now, it's been habit more than necessity for years anyway. he's gamzee m-something, i lost track. might find him on youtube or the news or /x/ (that's on the 4chan egbert don't look) but it's better than it probably seems  
good job on the kids everybody  
peace i'm out

In honour of Dave's first greeting and also because it was short, he called the file [sup].

The mouse icon wasn't halfway to the X of the window before dearly departed Harley responded - come ON, did ghosts get a special fee on speed-reading courses? The files were 0 KB, the content in their titles so Bro didn't have to open them - because through the second-hand communication of years, Harley had got to know him well enough to know that he definitely would not have.

[Ghost_Anon] [DONT drop trou and skedaddle its not charming]  
[Ghost_Anon] [Consequences are to be faced not _mooned_!!]  
[Ghost_Anon] [By which i mean talk to us man and we can help wit]

Harley hit the title character-limit and the limit of what, apparently, could be safely sent from the great beyond. The visuals on Bro's screen wobbled violently and the fan in his computer tower whirred into overdrive, so he quit fast.

The Pesterchum notifications over in the corner of the screen weren't enticing either.

Bro went to lie on the futon again, meditating to the homey sounds of crows on the windowsills, traffic below, and the intermittent chant of _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this fic follows. If you don't want to know the broad outline of the story, feel free to ignore. Although I uh, got a lot of ideas during writing and went rather off the map anyway so it's not as spoilery as it could be.
> 
> [Prompt](https://homesmut.livejournal.com/17313.html?thread=36105633#t36105633): **Bro/Gamzee, dubcon, sex to keep him calm**  
>  Inspired by this: http://shippingwall.tumblr.com/tagged/broxgamzee
> 
> The Game is won, and on New Earth the kids' dead family members are alive and well. But it'll take the players at least another year of travelling through paradox space to get there.
> 
> Only problem? In the final battle, Gamzee somehow got sent straight to new Houston. He contacts the other trolls and Karkat totally freaks out, because his moirail's far away with no one there to keep him from going into a rage and killing off some humans.
> 
> The solution? Finding a human strong enough to keep up with Gamzee and having them shack up, since, without a moirail, the only way to keep a troll calm is to engage him in regular sex with a domineering partner. (Up to filler if this is a culture thing or biological response or what.) So Dave contacts his Bro, who goes looking for this dangerous alien dude, takes him home, and starts trying to figure out how this xeno-sex thing is even supposed to work.
> 
> Gamzee would be willing, because he doesn't want to lose his shit again right when things were starting to look up for them, and chatting with Karkat on Trollian isn't enough to keep him cool. But he still has some hang-ups about adults, since a troll adult would not hesitate to hurt or kill him in this situation, and Gamzee's never spent time with someone as old as Bro before.
> 
> Would love to see these two slowly getting used to each other, all hesitant and mildly freaked out, but they're both chill enough to work through the awkward and the culture clash. By the time the others get there, they'd have settled into a happy relationship, with awesome sex and frequent rap battles.
> 
> Worried Karkat over Trollian is a nice bonus.


	2. [ interstice: a long night ]

 

* * *

 

...You could be dead. Plenty of ghosts have taken the initiative to try and depress you further by sharing that, prior to the first cold realisation, it can be as difficult to tell the difference between death and life as it can to be know if you're awake or dreaming. And it's not like one option would be weirder than the other - either way, this place shouldn't exist. This ship should be consumed, its physical existence and all iterations of its potentiality. You sure as hell don't have any memories of it, and none of the other players should, either. You're not supposed to be here. Not _really_.

The ship is moving, but is it getting anywhere? There's no speed behind it - even if you're on a set course, this is one step up from just drifting through space.

If it keeps moving, though, you might soon travel through a dream bubble (or a different one, if you already are in an unusual one) and get a better idea about your status ... _if_ this ship is travelling around those twists of space touched by the Furthest Ring. Otherwise, the dark will continue unabated.

None of your friends are here, though you were with some of them right up to the strobing rainbow "blank" spot in your memory. A couple had pretty much been in arm's reach. And now - well, the ship is big, but you've figured out how to scan for life signs and used the electronic blueprints to make sure you checked out some of the residential areas, and so you're pretty sure it is also long-deserted. Which is preferable. Seriously, in plenty of ways. It's just...

There's no one else.

Only you, and the second most familiar corpse that you've known.

 

* * *

 


	3. Regulators! Mount up!

Trolls were nocturnal on their home planet, trolls split sex into two major categories and had three major organs for sexual stimulation, trolls had psychic powers, and Troll _ian_ could provide an interdimensional view from any selected angle on anything Bro did. The infodumps just didn't stop coming. —Neither did trolls, was another thing. It was on some level satisfying to discover that such a sage phrase as "ur gonna cum buckets" could be a subconscious legacy from the creators of the universe. (The creators of the universe being a bunch of teens half-assing their way through an RPG almost didn't rate as a revelation.)

In practical application over the week that this information was received, the facts turned out like so:

Sunshine got a troll test drive every now and then - Gamzee would watch a shaft of light creep across the floor, over his toes, up his legs, and then he'd retreat before trying it again or stomping over to whip the curtains shut - but he tended to sleep through most of the day. Bro had long ago developed a late-night constitution, so it was easy to adjust to Gamzee's schedule. There was a minor difference in that Gamzee seemed to have a thing for sunrises, and Bro liked and knew from experience that he'd get the best professional use out of late-afternoon light (you got such a glow to the colour of those plush rumps), once he started filming again, so each of them had a few waking hours of getting a break from the other's presence. Downsides: listening to Gamzee's nightmares get louder in the afternoons; the two times when Bro woke up and saw the kid had skipped sleeping because he was intently fixing up jagged tears he had clawed or bit into his pajama costume, and also some of the skin underneath.

"I'm opting in for as close as this biz gets to red romance," Gamzee said unexpectedly while Bro was still reading the quadrants rant, CG apparently having raised the subject with both of them at once. (It hadn't slowed the talky fuck down by a hair. _How in hell_ did the dude manage.) Gamzee was crouching on a stool by the window in a gargoyle pose, apparently just because, and opened the window as he continued. "If that works. Flushed, or whatever way of calling it that motherfucker is detailing at you. It's the human one so it should not ought to be no big, sneaking all up and close to some version of that quadrant. Can you be getting by with that?" By now he was on the windowsill, dangling one leg outside, and on the apartment side, digging into the floor with his toes as if every micrometre scraped away was another pyrrhic victory. He'd spoken exclusively in the direction of the twinkling lights of the city.

He gave a startled honk when his palmhusk whistled a cheery alert. When he saw the image-message, it was unclear whether he fumbled the phone real hard or if the organic tech jumped away from his clenching hands. "Yeah yeah yeah FINE, Bro. AND, YES. The diagram he sent would be an accurate summation OF MY JUNK," he said, and looked at Bro.

Bro returned the attention.

Glaredowns only lasted a few seconds every time, and afterwards Gamzee would do a disappearing act. Yep, there he went - luckily not out the window, or halfway into space through sheer force of will. Just into Dave's bedroom with a lot of thumping and throwing. Didn't sound like anything broke, at least.

Kind of a pain he'd gone and holed up, this time. More details would have been useful. The diagram had a look to it like a page from a textbook, but it was so simplified that it gave the impression that trolls practiced abstinence-only education and feared that accuracy would lead the kids to uncontrollable lusts. Still, Bro now had an idea of what he was catering to: bone bulge, nook, auto-erogenous shame globes. Those last ones sounded like they just killed the challenge. (Also, now he had samples of non-romanised troll script, with the handwritten English names beside the diagram labels providing a Rosetta Stone opportunity - interesting. Kind of? Maybe he wanted to ask for more. Maybe later. Maybe not, but presumably the idea wouldn't be this exhausting all the time?)

As for the third item on the cross-cultural crash course, Gamzee didn't figure that the psychic powers existed.

Until Bro showed him the essay on the subject CG was unleashing into a chat window. Then Gamzee drifted toward the opposite side of the living room as he confessed to it being more like, they didn't work so well on humans, and he hadn't had access to anyone who could teach him more about how to use them for a long-ass time, and so you could hardly call all of that relevant... By then he was in the kitchen, probably regretting that he hadn't gone to Dave's room where there was a door to shut. But since Bro kept forgetting to quit setting traps to serve as training, assembling snacks still provided at least a half-hour's excuse to stay busy. Three-quarters, for Gamzee, since once he'd succeeded in winning some food, he liked to try it out in combination after weird combination.

CG's essay re-confirmed without prompting that the troll superpowers that affected the mind worked differently on humans. He mostly seemed to be mentioning Gamzee's out of paranoia. (Or trying to give his buddy serious shit. Or trying to defend him from accusations. All kinds of vibes seemed to be slipping into things he wrote about Gamzee, to the point it was contradictory. What did Bro know, anyway?)

"Mind control" still blared on the screen, even if Gamzee had never done it like his troll equivalent of a big bro had to his troll equivalent of a good friend, and even if it took more time to learn than Gamzee had lived.

Bro found he had an opinion on this. But he was more chill than to go ahead and _be_ revolted. That was the word for it - emotion was in uprising to overturn in hellacious righteousness the system causing the trouble. But the kid wasn't attacking anything beyond the occasional smuppets and empty jars, and didn't have big doll-blue eyes or anything, so righteous - or rational - didn't come into this reaction.

There hadn't been any incidents of nightmares, unreasoning terror, or the clouded and easily manipulated thinking that CG said Gamzee did have in his arsenal, during strife or otherwise. Nightmares might be an interesting novelty, actually - Bro hadn't remembered dreams since he was a kid - but Gamzee was full-time busy with his own. Otherwise, Bro's time was accounted for with no blackouts, and the only hole in his head was an old and familiar feature. He'd know if it had got filled at any point. First sign would be relief.

As for the Trollian viewscreens thing.

Dammit.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began trolling puppetPeddler [PP] --   
  
TG: caw caw  
PP: ok good  
TG: peep  
PP: could still work with this  
TG: im fucking with you bro  
PP: alphabetical mastery but no english did seem like a stretch  
TG: my onomatopoeic slammings are as english as it gets do you see me up in here like piyo piyo or canadianfrenchequivalentoftweet or whatever  
TG: no i am as orange blooded an american as the next bald eagle best recognise  
PP: quit the bird jokes and boot up the computer jokes real quick  
PP: the fuck is up with you messing with the game. you likely to kick your own ass if you backspace the wrong thing or what  
TG: let me lay it down for you how sprites roll  
TG: firstly its more like we hover and fly everywhere and are unlikely to make use of a wheeled vehicle that uses foot pedals  
TG: we are also jacked into the game systems with prime knowledge about everything from top grade mysterious sidequests to mundane flow of data streams  
TG: im the best bet for making sure the game doesnt screw anything around with this penultimate reward thing  
TG: it looks like a restore to save point and thats what it is in a lot of ways but its more complex than that  
TG: if you havent been hearing about weird shit already then its only because it hasnt got weird enough yet but it will soon  
TG: see a lot of other game heroes have also been restored in this process and at least some will remember about sburb and have capabilities left over from it  
TG: plus theres the wrinkle of the eight winners coming from two different universes but all having basically the same winners rights  
TG: were busy keeping a lid on the worst of the side effects because we still have some tools to work with  
PP: if you need second opinions check with rose's mom. doc lalonde knows what's up. she was part of the game design team and all  
TG: wait what the shit seriously  
TG: she was  
PP: that's most of how we knew shit about the game. me and your friends' guardians  
PP: didn't say anything because at first we were trying to get around having it play out at all. obviously that didn't work.  
PP: then so we wouldn't sound too much like the tinfoil hat crowd and set all you lil shits rolling your eyes and not paying attention  
TG: had suspicions you were clued up with how you acted with the meteors and jack noir  
TG: oh man btw speaking of secret backstories  
TG: just remembered  
TG: i can get a view of any point in your whole past and up to the present moment from practically any selected angle with this trollian chat programme so if makara gets into your head like APPARENTLY he has gained the magic clown ability to do since last time i was in a position to know then ill see it and tell you whats up and well figure out what to do about him  
TG: and never mind what his friends have to say about the matter  
PP: just btw  
TG: yeah  
TG: since it came up  
PP: how's that fuckin begin to work  
PP: know what, let's go with how i don't give a fuck.  
PP: move on to what exactly has your crystal ball shown you  
TG: 80s bros hair is the best sitcom ive ever watched in my life  
PP: sitcom is not the genre that first came to mind  
TG: bro  
TG: i am  
TG: let me assure you  
TG: STRENUOUSLY avoiding the age range likely for the genre of twink gets rawed in original muppet costume im not even taking chances around the lower side of barely legal  
TG: actually i saw you as a big eyed broby and also let the record state that i really did not expect the glimpse of the lord of the rings convention but i just took a look at those points to make sure i can use this thing properly  
TG: can you believe this chat programme to make space time your bitch was made available to every dumbass troll kid that comes along like hi download your state endorsed voyeurism inducement for free  
  
\-- puppetPeddler [PP] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --   
  
TG: ive gotten used to trolls but i can state with certainty that god forbid that as a species they dont take every opportunity to be so over the top theyre constantly backflipping on mount everest  
TG: oh ok  
TG: cool  
TG: listen just try not to be weirder than you usually are so that i can actually tell if youre getting messed with  
TG: thats another btw thing btw  
TG: i have figured out that youre weird  
TG: just sayin  
TG: dave the regular dave also figured it out along the line we discussed it and have deep bro consensus we didnt even have to ask bro jr for input  
TG: a guy and an alternate timeline guy get a long journey on their hands and the quiet reflections gotta get busted out on how theyve lived their lives up till then  
TG: shit gets deep or otherwise you end up playing i spy fourteen hours straight and you have to face how the roadtrip movies lied to you about the fun and the character developing shenanigans  
  
\-- puppetPeddler [PP] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --   
  
PP: dude.  
TG: yeah ok  
TG: rambling  
TG: youre alive is all  
PP: thx  
PP: you did good  
PP: real good  
  
\-- puppetPeddler [PP] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] -- 

His bro was watching out for him.

In the last way he would have selected from the options list, if that was how life worked. He'd given shit up in grabbing the kid for raising, and a lot of that made sense even from this side of having his brain back. The whole of pre-baby lifestyle really didn't need to be on display. And all those kids who could "troll" him were in on this. They could get an eyeful of every minute of interaction with Li'l Cal telling him what to do. What would that look like from outside, when everything had felt natural to him - what would his brothers think?

Bro surprised himself by getting distracted by the other revelation: Talking was fine. He'd just done it. A whole lot - not compared to Davesprite, ha, but the kid got that way. Bro had downright got into the swing of conversation for a minute there. Even if it had started off with weird relief to think that he could get away with responding only to approximated bird noises. He was energised, instead of the way he got from dutifully chewing over CG's walls of text twenty times per line before swallowing. He could imagine Davesprite looking pretty OK with things after that chat, too. Smiling - kid got that way, too.

And now it stood out that he almost for sure hadn't said a word to Gamzee. In the two nights since the psychic powers revelation, Gamzee had been disappearing more than usual, adding the roof to his list of sneak-away spots. He was up there now. It had to faced, he had no idea that Bro wasn't suspicious of him, as opposed to how Davesprite and CG were acting. Treating him exactly the same as before didn't work if he wasn't around to experience it. One thing that Bro was willing to bank on: that kid was lonely. He'd spent the last couple days getting lonelier, and it wasn't going to help him feel more like reeling himself in.

Fine.

Roof. Now.

Or, after a pizza delivery. It could wait like a half-hour. One meat lover's, and one primavera for the vegetables. Add extra cheese and that would cover nutritional bases for the day.

If they had their mouths full they might not have to talk that _much_.

When Bro went through the now-fixed door to the roof, Gamzee was lurking behind the AC units, a shadow distinguishable in the night only when he peered over his sunglasses, but then the kid popped out like a whack-a-mole. "Hey, motherfucker," he called, waving lamely.

Bro nodded. Seemed like this was chill Gamzee. He would do most of the talking with no complaints, in that case. It would probably be about whatever reruns he'd caught on TV while Bro was sleeping too much, but he'd talk.

Only most of it, though. Best get his own side of this rolling. "Pizza? We can sit out here. Warm night," Bro said.

"Yeah, we can!" Gamzee said. Or, in interest of exactness, celebrated. It really did seem like earnestness in his expression, hope in his voice, and a bunch of things pointing towards a dude who was cheering up hard and fast. Then again...

It might feel like a fucking awful habit to keep running with assumptions like they were facts lined up for convenient use, but some of his doubts were starting to strike Bro as dumbass ones. "Our faces work the same, right?" he asked as he sat down with his back against an AC unit, and flipped both boxes open. He'd already divided the contents so that each had half of both pizzas.

Gamzee settled alongside him with a noise like humour. "More like, yours up and works dead on the same as does Dirk Junior's, to leave a ninja guessing what's the haps behind those shades, 'cause I could be up and saying--"

"Trolls and humans. Our facial expressions and shit. Pretty much the same, right?"

"Ohh. I never had much more of trouble figuring out Rose or Dave as with any other motherfucker as ever I knew real good."

"Uh-huh." This got no reaction out of Gamzee, except that after a minute or so he shoved two slices of pizza in his face. Mastication frenzy up in here as panic took root. (Almost 100% sure.) "Keep going," Bro said.

Gamzee looked cautious - very briefly in Bro's direction, then mostly in his pizza's. "So um, it's being the way of... There's some people as I have got to understanding on a lot of ways, and some I could only get around in a few ways that stuck, and some not one bit. But it don't have much to do with if they're trolls or humans. Like, Rose, once you're past worrying at the little smile, you can get to spitting it with her to the realest. And fuckin' Dave, ugh. Dave never was chill like he'd want you to think..."

Gamzee rambled on. He didn't like Dave much, but Bro could keep the urge to tell him to fuck off under wraps because he also enjoyed how he didn't like Dave, sniggering at mentions of bugging him and willing to admit to the occasional balancing of the scorecard. It came out that CG's real name was Karkat Vantas, sort-of best friend and definitely, wistfully the best known. There was a Terezi Pyrope, a Kanaya Maryam, a Mayor, and a (deep sigh) Sollux Captor who he had got to know pretty OK, all told, even if it was long after meeting him...

"Man. I have neglected some shit," Bro said. He looked up at the sky, putting his theories in order, and remembered too well Gamzee's gentle pronouncement: everybody fucked up. "Should have asked sooner. How long were you sharing space with Rose and Dave? And not the other two humans, or the alternate timeline players? Because when you and CG mentioned time passing, I thought it was from trolling them here on Earth, plus a quick run through the Game. But it's sounding like more. Sounding like enough shit went down that I gotta know about."

"Sweet sixteen," Gamzee said with a shrug. "That was one of the jokes Dave was making lately at Rose and Kanaya, about Earth years. That's how old they got. And we were split up, in different crews, waiting to get to this universe's Game session. Your feathered bro was all up and with Jade and John through that time."

No wonder the Daves had decided he was full of shit. Age sixteen was prime for that.

Bro thumped the back of his head against the AC unit, wanting to do it again and harder. Three years. The kids had had each other, all kinds of preparation, and powers, so it could be worse. Even had scary-ass troll friends that had come over to their side. But holy fuck.

And he had middle-school dropouts on his hands. At least it wasn't high school - there was one prediction proven wrong. Fuck it, nobody had got pregnant so far, he was counting it as a win.

"Y'all take photos during that time? Or Egbert's gonna be pissed about missing out. Lalonde too - she'll bust out so much sugar about it every last one of you will choke. My Egbert and Lalonde, I mean. The guardians."

"Yeah, motherfucker, get bored enough and you make up shit to keep busy with, and sometimes it was taking photos of each other. Those weren't even all of them embarrassing..."

Gamzee sounded nostalgic. They'd had good times, stuck together. Bro now had a lot of interrogating on the to-do list, but he could believe the kids had been OK. He'd deal, as long as he got to see some of those photos too. One per year passed, at least. Upgrade this Rip van Winkle bullshit already.

The pizzas were done, so Bro gathered the boxes and napkins and stood to go. Gamzee didn't. He was flattened against the AC unit as if he meant to face execution like a man.

Oh yeah, there was a reason Bro had come up here, and a reason Gamzee had run off. "You're not fucking with my head. I know. We're cool. Come down if you want."

"That's ... the right of it. There's no intentions versus you or anybody's puzzle sponge to be found in me. And it's real lucky for me you're thinking that way." Deepest sigh. Gamzee's shoulders sagged, and he wilted over his pulled-up knees. "How come that's where your believing is at?"

"You were relieved I could take you in a fight. Didn't pull mind tricks then, or any time after. Never been near anybody else on this planet to target them since day one."

He nodded. "Bro. Like I said, I'm lucky, but turns out I'm still wondering. You want anything, for this taking my shit and feeding me and dealing with assortments of dangers as all come like a bonus?" Gamzee was miserable, that was certain, when he looked up. "You figured yourself onto a clear idea of how I want to quit breaking everything to shit and nothin'. Know all about having to ... get me at your mercy sometime, or I'll all get everything broken anyhow. You been schoolfed on how exactly I'm put together, for your mercy or for lack thereof. This shit's different with human adults than troll ones, I know that, but, god, brother. What's the payment you're planning?"

"Gave me the down-low on the doll. Consider that worth milking. And the fucking little green hat. It's not the right one, but it is still - I had that doll all my life, man. More mine than anything else was, except for me. Even if it wasn't alive, kind of alive, it would be some kind of a deal to me. Enough of one."

Bro wasn't about to tell him that it was good he was just _there_. No brothers, shit going weird with the other guardians, and no Li'l fucking Cal with a cheat sheet to living - but he could disregard all of that, because at least Gamzee Makara was up top on the to-do list. Time to analyse uncanny valley alien movements, or puzzle out hints at troll society now that CG had got to the point of unleashing all the slang and troll terms he'd been holding back, or design smuppets for a market not yet cornered on Earth. Simple enough not to occupy every minute, with enough interest that Bro's brain worked on the situation when other things were tiring ... hollowing.

He waited as Gamzee stared at him. Finally, Gamzee shut his eyes and nodded, then got up. "There's a wicked thirst up in me..." With squinting at shuffling captchalog cards and a lightning grab, he snagged a bottle of Faygo. "Want some?"

They split the bottle as they walked down to the apartment, and Gamzee took up the conversational burden again, as per expectation. Pulled on a smile for good measure. His lilt-cracked voice started with free association about battles against Game monsters, after too many had spawned for him to keep them chill by sharing Faygo and pies. He wandered off with the topic to how Dave had to be tricked into sparring (tell me about it, dude), how the Mayor had sparred exactly once and had surprised even himself with how into it he got, but then he'd bawled and all the rest of them in the room had cried too, and that it was hilarious how easy it could be to surprise yourself...

"CG said the Faygo's inexplicable," Bro contributed from curiosity he'd been harbouring, once they were back inside and Gamzee had invited him to finish off the bottle. "From your universe to this one."

"It's my motherfucking paradise planet. Well, sort of, along with everything else it's being... Anyway, no way I was gonna let it be paradise without wicked elixir. But I figure we all made our mark, you dig? Me and my friends, the troll ones, we got some of what we dreamed for a place that we could be at peace in, free in, fuck around in."

Example: The only explanation for all Earth's spider species being tiny and adorable was so this one asshole he knew could enjoy them without shitty memories. Goats had four legs so Gamzee could do the same. He figured Kanaya wouldn't let a planet go by without having a place where it was burnt clean for the austerity, even if the sunlight here was a lot less harsh overall. "All those deserts have got to be her doing. There's _ice_ deserts! Clean as a dirtball gets, right? She'll be all proud." 

So this was what he looked up on his husktop half the nights. By this time, Bro was settled in on his futon with felt and the fabric scissors, keeping busy through the infodump. Maybe he should tell CG - Karkat, he reminded himself - to get tips from Gamzee, but explanations that contained almost no explaining probably stopped being funny when they were all you had to go on. It was an entertaining backing track to working, though.

Gamzee proclaimed himself stumped by the lack of real dragons (the fuck you say), and the lizards that got called dragons almost definitely wouldn't satisfy. He was happy about the various kinds of cats and cows and horses, but working his way up to finding out whatever it was the oceans hid, because surely that shit was going to get scary fast. He found the red blood that so many Earth species had to be a "grand, high-grade" joke, and did indeed proceed to giggle about it like a Valley girl in a teen movie.

"It's a good night," he concluded, and all of a sudden his voice was coming out with all the joy of a flatline. "Bro. It ever gets to you, how those don't last?"

 _Not 'til right now. Jesus. Go back to not wanting to make me deal with your shit, dude._ "Then I do something about it." He reached out one leg to push his boxes of fabric pieces and sewing equipment, placed beside the futon so he wouldn't knock them over, closer towards where Gamzee sprawled on the couch.

A long in-drawn breath. "Good fucking guess. _There's_ some thing I could do the necessary for."

More like, it was the obvious distraction. Gamzee sure did his best not to sustain any mood bar crazy-ass obsessive for more than half an hour, and the one thing so far that tapped into that frame of mind was the pajamas. Now he dragged himself over from the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor, near the fabric. Some of the ribbons on his costume seemed to be getting tatty for his taste, so he put together scraps of all colours to replace them with.

Gamzee wasn't getting more violent, but his starting point was pretty high, and maintaining it wasn't doing his own hide and the occasional small, breakable object any favours. And Bro had been handed the answer to that problem like three lines into finding out about it.

He laid aside his sewing to go sit at his computer. There was other work waiting - unearthing what fresh hell exactly his Skaianet stocks had plummeted to, for instance - and if he kept on sitting on the futon, it could look too much like adding subtext to the conversation.

He got a little too into the stock prices, which weren't behaving in remotely the way he'd expected, and then went back on task: "Hey, it's Tuesday tomorrow. About time you got laid."

Gamzee squeaked. No honk, surprisingly - pretty much a human sound of crisis.

"Nothing wrong with Tuesdays," Bro pointed out. "More than a week since arrival, and we've hashed out some big details. Might as well finalise the small print. 7PM good for the first time?"

"You up and decided already, I guess!" Gamzee yelled. Hard to tell which way he was leaning, between outrage and panic.

"Adjust whatever you want to. You need more than time and place to be ready, cool, say the word. Also including, you got kinks you want to try?" There was a movement from where Gamzee seemed to be trying to lurk in plain sight on the living room floor - nodding, sign language, flailing, reaching for a weapon? Bro kept on scrolling and typing. "I ain't playing kink charades until at least the three-month mark. Spit it out. Or troll me, if that's easier."

" _Ease_? You know, motherfucker, what I was getting at up on the roof not so much as one fucking hour ago?"

"All 'bout how you know this exact thing is scheduled to come up soon."

"You plainly said I'd done _enough_ for you!"

"And I repeat." He took a moment to tap away at his keyboard. "My satisfaction is no part of the issue."

"Motherfucker, back up at where I came from--!" A hysterical sound. "Any of grown-ass adults as stumbled upon me would be all high with your ability to skin and stuff me for use as decoration, before there's a chance allowed to go by of me thinking too long of running the fuck off!"

"I'm not into that. Same goes for the vast majority of my fellow human beings."

"Yeah, well, BUT..." Gamzee started, and thought again for a pause. Then he decided to include the statement, "Me neither" at a speed an appreciable fraction _too fucking fast_.

For that, Bro was going to stop being distracted and spin his chair around to stare this shifty little freak dead in the eyes. "You sure about that?"

Gamzee nodded, and kept right on nodding as he spoke. "Every per cent definite on it that I could be. How would I even be doing that?" Deeply innocent. Even more panicked.

Now that was some fascinating shit. "If you want to maintain that mystery, better get this party started. I got going with one of those for you." Bro waved a hand at the smuppet cut-outs lying on his futon, pieces of fabric pinned together in an approximation of the final products. Gamzee quit looking twitchy and froze up instead. "Customer satisfaction is a point of pride, but keep in mind I'll need feedback on the design. It's new. Outta this world."

"Smuppets!?"

"Singular. A starter."

Gamzee peeled his nervous stare off Bro's face, and unfolded his legs so he could sidle to the futon. Reached out. Poked the felt where the tip of the nose was taking shape, and here was another of those incredibly convincing bike-horn sounds, this one somehow thoughtful. Get that boy in an SFX booth. For what kinda movie, god knows, but it would be Bro's new most-watched.

"Noon," Gamzee said quietly. "That work? Guess that'd mean as to some fast sewing happening..."

"I'm a pro. Noon's good." A little early for him to be awake these days, late for Gamzee. Not the worst idea for the kid to sleep everything off afterwards, and any resulting nightmares could be useful to take note of. "Tell me anything you feel the need to make known. Think it over. Now I gotta send a message, and then I'm showering, and then I'm fixing up your smuppet. You go ahead and do whatever."

\-- puppetPeddler [PP] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --   
  
PP: if you're negative on alien dong and all the rest they're packing, avoid checking on the apartment on tuesdays for the foreseeable future  
PP: that's starting tomorrow if the outside of outer space makes it hard to tell  
  
\-- puppetPeddler [PP] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] -- 

Gamzee was shut up in the bedroom by the time Bro got out of the shower, as expected. If he tried that for their scheduled appointment, would it be reasonable to break the door down? Probably only if he tried a barricade manoeuvre. For now, the issue would keep.

-

And then it was time to run an empire of one.

With Gamzee, first item on the list, taken care of, and the fact that at least one of his bros was doing OK out there, Bro felt kickstarted, refreshed - and affronted at himself for how he'd let his work lie. Stumbling round the apartment all day, letting lethargy keep a grip on his head and body ... it happened, but after those bouts passed he could only think of them as unnatural.

He finished nailing down the options on what stock to sell, buy, keep an eye on. Then he plugged the information into some analytical algorithms he'd cooked up, for a second opinion before he moved cash around.

Next? Pending bookings for ventriloquist rap were right the fuck out. Line those performances up for slaughter via cancellation notices and no-thank-you emails. Fare thee well, poignant burgeoning genre.

Ought to lock down more plain DJ gigs - and his inbox already had queries along that line; sweet. Could expand to private sessions as well as clubs as compensation for the lost rapping income stream, but it was easier to vet places rather than individuals. Worth thinking about solutions, though.

Should do something about the proto-cult, just in general. Direct their energy at a new target. Knitting, maybe, couldn't be many people in such dire need of a stitch 'n bitch, and if it didn't involve sewing he wouldn't be tempted to use them for sweatshop labour. (...Again?) Information gathering, maybe. Starting a band.

Better edit some of the raw footage intended for plushrump.com within the next few days. It had started piling up pre-apocalypse.

...Could script new ideas about incorporating honk sounds on his videos. There was a niche waiting to be filled or created, he could feel it; something sensual to be layered over the act of tentative fingertips pinching a perked nose. Grey hands, though-- recolouring the skin would look wack. Maybe adding latex glove fetish could make it work. Ooh, doctor, doctor.

The dating site could do with revamps, especially the one to automatically add more flattering lighting to any butt-shots that got uploaded. And a lot more legalese regarding the Git Gud tier, because it was too entertaining an idea to drop. Better hit up a reference library to make sure he didn't miss any obscure laws that hadn't been digitised. Actually, more than only his favourite library, just in case.

Moving out of the apartment ... a pain in the ass. But while Gamzee could get away with looking like a horror movie minion if the two of them brazened it out, Davesprite was a special effect you didn't get without featuring on a proud 30-minute making-of special. Better look into purchasing property while he was checking out laws anyway. Maybe someplace rural, goddammit - his vibe was real city and so were his bros', but it wasn't like they could live inside four walls forever, so the other option was isolation. And he had to get a better estimated time of arrival from the space-kids so he knew how long he had to organise it all. (Basic, basic shit; no way he was letting things get away from him like this again. Usually he was way better at working through those kinds of moods, and only the rap and maybe DJ-ing would've had to be put on hold.)

Grand finale: a brisk round of the conspiracy circuit.

He had a suspicion about why his Skaianet stock looked better than he could remember it ever being. If the company wasn't going under for slapping retail value on the meteor apocalypse, then people must have put together that the Game had no way out but through.

Visiting forums where he'd first stitched together Game knowledge confirmed the theory, and also revealed the situation to be worse: Copies of Sburb existed, right now, restored in original condition same as the rest of planet Earth's fine details. As far as anyone could put together, it looked like all the players who hadn't reached "god tier" could still just ... reach out and put their hot little hands on the Sburb beta.

Of course beating the Game didn't mean that it intended to stay beaten. Or whatever drove it in the first place. Of course. Bro considered that the world could have ended another couple hundred times while he spent the week lying around the apartment, sleeping too much, and concluded that next time he was in a club he'd be getting staggeringly hammered.

At least his bros and their friends seemed to be on the same level of suckerdom, thinking that winning meant it was done and dusted. They hadn't even hinted around this, and his bros would have known he was capable of helping. Doc Lalonde had to be working her ass off right now. Did she have Egbert on assist?

He dived back into the forums. So far, Skaianet was successfully putting the seeds of destruction to the weed whacker. There was ongoing debate about the degree among the forumites about how responsible the company was versus the degree to which it had provided the best way out of the inevitability baked into the Game, but balance of opinion had come down on nobody ever playing the fucking thing again, and there was an open flow of information between Skaianet and freaked-out gamers everywhere.

Skaianet had worked something into the beta that meant many copies had been remotely fried as soon as enough of the employees woke back up to Earth restored, but the policy was still to track down all extant copies. Skaianet was working through standard global distribution chains, the equally standard as well as the more underground pirate distributors, competitors who'd copied what they could of the code and pseudo-natural secrets, and a scattering of people who'd posted mopey shit online about missing their cloud dreams, powers, opportunity to escape, whatever.

Most players were uploading vids of celebratory bonfires, establishing close-ups of crinkling Sburb logos consumed in flames as the newest visual cliche to hit the globe, and a What the Hellfie thread post count was up to 65 837 on one board, as people showed off their post-Sburb facial expressions.

Bro skimmed rants by the people flagged as the most knowledgeable, Seers, Mages, Witches, Sylphs; Heroes of Light, Space, Time, Doom; and the real hard-hitters, the former sprites. It was surreal - a whole online community where people knew what they were talking about.

The actual world was now filled with people who knew what they were talking about.

Huh.

Bro posted for the first time in years. (Since back when he'd tracked down Harley, and finally got access to solid info. And fine - since Harley had tracked him down in turn, he could admit that.) He picked one of the forums where they'd put together a team to work together with Skaianet, and posted in a general reaction thread.

_I know the kids that beat the Game, brought Earth back. Aliens helped them - ones who'd played a different session, in a different dimension. But they met by way of the same Game._

He'd probably better hold back on the part about the aliens ruling Earth as gods, complete with influencing the course of evolution to the pinnacles of producing itsy bitsy spiders and sodas of choice. It might be best never to mention that at all, however much information he started scattering around these forums. That way he'd get an organic sense of who thought his shit was bananas, and who might have picked up clues about the session that brought Earth back. Could be useful for the future, if he found people who could work up sympathy for a handful of trolls who were out to make a new home.

Now he wanted to kick ass. Or at least set up traps. That was how it used to be: check on what the Game might do, then prep Dave for the general or the particular thing. (What the fuck was he supposed to do with the kids from now on? Figure out how to make them not fight, probably. Clone rivalry was worse than the sibling iteration, sci-fi kung fu movies wouldn't lie to him about that.) He was supposed to have a new routine, though, and it was as much in his wheelhouse as fighting, even if he didn't normally apply strategy to getting _specific_ virgins off. He'd break out the sewing machine if he wanted to finish the smuppet tonight, plus its extras. The temperature control he had on hand was fiddly and he had to make sure that it and the vibration mechanism didn't interfere with each other.

-

Bro privately bet on his roomie starting in good old Great Vengeance and Furious Anger Mode for the day's entertainments. The wheel spun in the game of emotions roulette, and the ball popped right off the table, bounced off somebody's shoe and out the window, and landed in the ditch of How About Going Blind instead.

If _only_ Gamzee had tried to achieve his blindness via a good old chicken-choking session. The second he'd stepped out of the bedroom he had announced that he was going up to the roof - flash-step, and outta sight. It had been a little past ten, so Bro let him do whatever he felt the need for in the lead-up to the high noon showdown. Not an hour later Gamzee trolled him, with many typos, and asked for help getting back to the apartment before he accidentally walked off the roof, because it turned out that looking right at the Earth sun was a bad idea for a nocturnal alien. Who could have guessed - except, for example, Gamzee, who'd already had trouble with the level of light on his first day here.

Bro went to drag him down. In the full flood of morning sunshine, hot and bright today as it had been all month in the heatwave, Gamzee stood in the middle of the rooftop. His eyes were swollen almost shut, the face paint smeared around them from being rubbed. The messed-up paint revealed streaks of grey skin with a purple shine that he doubted was ideally supposed to be there - none of Gamzee's exposed skin had showed that before. Bro grabbed him and led him to the staircase entrance.

Gamzee twisted in a sweet little move to pop his forearm out of Bro's grip, which made it seemed like rage would feature after all. It turned out he wanted to hold hands. No joke.

"Dude."

"I am getting in the MOTHERFUCKING MOOD," Gamzee said, eyes streaming with tears of a shade of purple that a professional artist of visual and spoken media would just have to call lavender.

"You couldn't do it with motherfucking sunglasses on?"

This entirely sincere, suprised smile got aimed his way. "Wouldn't work to best effect, Bro. How it is, as this ninja was all telling at myself last night, is that there is plenty more motherfucking danger out here than in that hiveblock." He waved an arm at the sky, turning his face to not-really-stare at the view for a moment, like the presence of the city was palpable. (Were those indistinct psychic powers at work?)

Gamzee rolled his tongue over his dry lips and went on, voice switching to the quiet version of itself. "But that's merely a thing said and said, over and again, and there's plenty of shit you can say to yourself without it being truth, you know? But to come up and be wholeass sitting in the heat and glare ... I got a true motherfucking _feel_ for that knowledge, now, that distress has a hold out here, while I got the good shit down there. Waiting at me to come _get it_." His free hand joined the other one in holding Bro's, with a stroke over the dips of his knuckles so quick it probably wasn't human.

Bro executed his own expert twist to get his hand back, then steered him by the shoulder.

"Oh ... it's just been all a thought up in me sometimes ... you got hot hands," Gamzee said apologetically.

Right, trolls broadly had a hand kink - stimulation tended to be on the surface so nothing interfered with all parties' jizz heading straight into the bucket, and it was often achieved by fingerfucking. Also, about time. Here Bro was, prime piece of meat specially ordered, and for over a week he hadn't got one appreciative or even openly thoughtful glance.

"I got hot everything."

"But really fucking nice hands, though. Aw, shit, I should have remembered how it might be good to watch you busy on the sewing..."

Despite managing to find that flaw in the plan, his blinded clown pal seemed pleased with himself every step of the way, even though said steps required holding on to Bro and the staircase railing like a grandpa.

Back in the apartment, Bro cleared out the kitchen sink and ran cold water, throwing in a few ice cubes, and got Gamzee dunked. Then, keeping an eye on the kid rolling his face around in the coolness and burbling in relief, he allowed himself to be amused. Way to derail his plans, but the plans weren't a matter of imminent scheduled-to-the-day death anymore, so all right, this was funny. He was only so far from ruffling this dipshit's hair like it was one of his little bros, so score Gamzee another point for the preventative presence of that ugly-ass cone hat.

He did also like how Gamzee was way more down to fuck than before, so another point for the dumbass plan actually working. There was far too good a chance that it would change within the hour, emotions roulette being a game with staying power, but puppeteering a happy disaster's sex life was a better project than doing it for a dude who spent a lot of free time chewing through himself.

"Are you blowing bubbles?" Bro said.

Gamzee proceeded to do so with more than average skill, which showed he hadn't actually been doing it before. "Testing out words down there," he confessed as he came up, and squinted his swollen eyes first at the fridge, dubiously, and then at Bro, with certainty. _Fuck yeah_ , Bro thought, _my shoulders look_ that _broad when I got my arms crossed_. "I was thinking about, uh, being with asking at something for a favour ... I'll, well, motherfuck. I'll need a little help. As of the subject on undressing. This shit got buttons all over."

They sat on the couch to mutually denude Gamzee. (Getting out of week-old clothes was probably a step out of a bullshit mood for him, too.) Two rows of tiny buttons ran down the left sleeve, starting from opposite sides of the cuff and then ending at the bottom of the shirt and at the collar respectively, because Gamzee's horns prevented him from pulling much of anything on over his head.

"I had a plan," Bro told him. "Sure seemed like a good plan with solid information and reasoning behind it, up till about eleven this morning. I wasn't going to lay a finger on you, and had full intention of leaving as much of the boner therapy in your dexterous paws as you'd want."

"I can do it myself. If I can SEE, Bro! But if I miss any of these buttons OR the hooks and try to wriggle on free of these most righteous threads" ( _Oh my god._ ) "that could be more tears to account for! Can't believe I up and got my forgetting on to the hooks..." Gamzee fretted like a prom queen hopeful who'd stepped on her dress's hem, making petting motions at his waist. That part of the shirt was also attached to the pants to form a half-hearted onesie; Bro was leaving the whole pants area to him in a last-ditch effort at, like, boundaries or whatever. "Ran out of some of the shit I needed to all make this costume work right, you know? Had to scrounge up make-dos and perform genuflection almost genuine to convince Kanaya to gimme some of her clothesmaking goods."

His head came up sharply, and he tried to look at Bro before giving it up - his eyes weren't as swollen and he'd removed some of the face paint, but it still cost a lot of blinking and welling-up before he could see much. "You are keeping all kinds of parts of my comfort in mind. It's a thing as is to be appreciated. What else is it a motherfucker has in store, if apparently your own hands are not a part of it?"

"You take your toy. You go to the bedroom. Have yourself a good time. Then come out here - clothes back on - and chill for a while. Keep in mind, you're not even getting paid for this, no contract signed, so don't put up with jack shit you don't want to."

"Yeah. I tell at a brother and he's all human-nice about it and nothing goes wrong." Gamzee nodded reassuringly to himself.

Bro reflected on his own hands, knuckles brushing against the skin of Gamzee's waist as they worked, almost to the end of the second row of buttons. "Just like here and now."

"I know," Gamzee said. He sighed, but still seemed good to go. He didn't take off the shirt when Bro was finished, though, clutching the separated parts of his costume close. First alien on Earth, too ignorant of local custom to even make a striptease work; such a shame. Mostly, Bro wanted to get a clearer idea of how he was put together for fighting the way he did.

Bro put curiosity on the backburner and gave him the smuppet, with instructions. It had long arms with wires in for a little stiffness, for wrapping around legs to keep the toy in place right where it would feel best. Squeezing the tip of the nose set off the vibration mechanism, while squeezing the base was for cooling it down; it could both provide satisfaction and chill Gamzee's globes out from entering an auto-erogenous cycle that might leave him gagging to get off all the way up to next week.

He went for Bro's hand again as they walked to the bedroom - another grazing touch that still conveyed more than the usual attention to detail, somehow managing to run it over just the fingertips. He disguised it as an attempt to get attention, before speaking with a lot more hesitance than he'd showed all day. "Bro. Couldn't say a brother has ever been all that inclined to puppets when it comes to pornos and shit..."

"You're going to be." Bro steered him into the room and shut the door.

Gamzee was gasping for breath in the next minute.

The noise was unmodulated, honest enough to be embarrassing, and set up to repeat. It sounded like he kept switching the vibration option on and off, probably giving himself moments to recover, but Gamzee's noises built to crescendo steadily. Then there was something that sounded mostly like a sudden crisis, but was probably him coming.

Bro stuck with hanging round the door. "Ten minutes, then I'm coming in to check," he said.

It went more quietly after the first one. Two more identifiable orgasms ensued during that span of time, judging by a high moan and a yelp respectively. The last one took more build-up. Hopefully that meant some actual challenge in the future - this was insultingly easy.

_Not actually insulting, man. You can't be a li'l bitch at him for not having stamina yet, you trying to be an embarrassment or what._

Gamzee emerged even more purple in the paintless parts of his face. Bro stepped in from the front and reached out, giving him time to react - he squinted intently - and then took him by the back of his neck in a firm but reasonably gentle grip. Despite having prepped for it, the hand finally making contact caused Gamzee's tendons to strain in his neck like he was the most adrenalised bro in the gym. Then his shoulders sagged and he went loose-limbed as Bro massaged his neck with quick squeezes, and then he tensed up tight again. Fuckin' emotions roulette. It all had Gamzee rolling like a sailor as he walked, sighing heavily. When they stopped at the bathroom door he settled on relaxed, not making a move to break free.

"Now you clean up," Bro instructed.

"There a time limit on that, too?"

"If you're still in the shower in a half-hour, I'm coming to check up. Hour tops all round, if maybe you actually do something to your hair. Holler for me when you're done."

The shower was running for about ten minutes, which was fit to warm the heart: Gamzee didn't seem to be suffering from feeling dirty. It gave Bro enough time to set up food for chilling out with. This wasn't the kind of scenario that required real aftercare but the future held many wonders, potentially.

Gamzee called for him not too long after the sound of the shower shut off. Standing by the bathroom door, he was in his first post-pajamas outfit: polka dot clown pants and a black t-shirt with a symbol on it, baggy even over his chunky frame. All that was left of his original clothes were the curly-toed purple slippers. He'd redone the face paint to a crisp finish, too - not a dude who let his theme die easy. Especially since he must have done the paint without being able to see the fine detail.

"You need to do laundry, huh?" Bro said. (Hm. Laundry.)

"Just wanted something with more of a breath of air to it. But I guess getting all of my clothing clean ought to be a thing that happens sometimes. There a washalyzer up and getting a hideaway on in here?"

"There's a set-up in the basement. I'll show you later. Right now we're heading to the kitchen." He went for the neck-hold again. This time Gamzee barely tensed, rolling his head like he wanted to get a feel for the scope of the touch; OK, this was part of the cooldown repertoire as of now. It could strike a balance between making sure the kid didn't feel discarded without having him feel crowded.

Bro had prepared a bowl of pumpkin soup, fresh from the can, and a jug of water, set out on the kitchen table. He let Gamzee get a few gulps in, then turned the meal into his very first business lunch. "So, dude. Feedback for improvement. How compatible was the toy with what you're packing?"

The spoon was slammed down with a clatter, Gamzee wide-eyed with an appropriate seed of awe. "That shit is _soft!_ "

As per advertising: _A remarkable combination of soft, durable, and middlingly easy to clean. ¡¡¡Smuppets!!!_ It was satisfactory to have a marketing point come up all natural. Now he'd thought of cleaning, though, he'd better remember to leave a map to the best soap to do it with taped over Gamzee's face or something soon.

"And."

"There was the vibration button that went and made it all up and like yeeeeaaahhhh, motherfucker, how about if you didn't know how the motherfuck your body was doing a single everything anymore, except it's electrified fireworks so you don't have to be knowing the how to know it's a motherfuckin' beautiful thing. The cooling bit, uh ... maybe was a flash freeze like as to make icicles stab inwards to like my fucking chin, though. But I motherfuckin' guess that worked too, it being that I don't feel like having to go off again."

"I can fix that."

Gamzee started to respond, but then just stared at him. In the face, then at his hands. He opted to return to eating, fumbling a little. He was almost done with the soup and had drunk three glasses of water before taking a chance with words again.

"Bro. That it?"

"You get to keep the smuppet. Use it whenever. Every Tuesday I'll arrange something, old favourites or the new hotness. Depends on which way I decide, and feedback."

He thought, _I didn't know if this would work._ For his whole life, he'd been sure of everything important. Been presented with assurance - a gift grafted on, grown inwards, intimate like a tendon. Now, he was left to openly stare at the kid on the opposite side of the fold-up table and trying to figure out everything that was necessary to know as fact.

"I can take it," Gamzee said, and then ducked his head so hard his nose was an inch from upsetting the bowl. Bet that kind of line featured in troll porn, too. "I fucking mean it's chill! Tuesdays: Chill. Brodirk Strider, having ideas at me: Cool." He swiped a finger through a streak of soup clinging to the side of the bowl and lipped it off.

Oh, 'Brodirk', check him trying to be cute. "Hey. Tell me about the neo-twink Bro. Been wondering about the dude."

"Only got much of words on with him since the crash landing here. What he's up and been saying from all the way from a view outside the universe is, I shouldn't let you convince me of jack shit. And to figure out what all it is gets me off, before you get involved with the saying anything of all of it. Oh, and, not to stick with being treated like a brand new pet project as was totally going to up and get its happen on."

"Why the fuck not?" Bro said. That was irritating. For one thing, somebody should clap eyes on him at _least_ before getting that accurate about him. Although, fuck, the timeline viewer took care of that. "It's been fine, 'cause I half-ass exactly none of my projects."

Gamzee swiped up another fingertip's worth of soup; the bowl was practically spitshined by now. "That ... probably wouldn't be any place the fuck near at the thing to communicate for Junior, to get to calming himself on down. But I get it. Your approach is got, Bro."

On that note of comforting ambivalence, Bro's phone let out the Pesterchum alert.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling puppetPeddler [PP] --   
  
CG: GAMZEE HAS NEVER BEEN OK FOR ONE FULL NIGHT IN HIS LIFE.  
CG: CHANCES ARE THAT THERE WAS A SCATTERING OF MINUTES IN THE MORE STUPID PHASES OF HIS WRIGGLERHOOD WHERE HE WAS UNAWARE ENOUGH TO THINK THAT ALL WAS WELL, BUT THE FLEETING MOMENTS OF ACTUAL GENUINE SATISFACTION IN HIS LOT AND OPTIMISM RE: THE POTENTIAL AT A FUTURE COULD ONLY BE A VENEER, AS SHOULD BE COMPLETELY APPARENT TO ALL.  
CG: IN FACT, IS OK A DESCRIPTION TO BE ATTACHED TO ANYONE? NO! IT'S A ROOKIE MISTAKE TO NOT BE AWARE THAT "OKNESS", ALSO KNOWN AS "BEING ALL RIGHT", AS A CONCEPT IS COMPLETELY FLAWED AND MEANS LITTLE MORE THAN, SAY, THAT THE SCREAMING WILL BE INTERNAL FOR A WHILE. LET'S ALL AGREE TO PLAY THE GAME OF LIFE IN A SAVVIER WAY THAN TO FALL FOR THAT MISCONCEPTION.  
CG: WITH THESE STONE COLD FACTS UNDERSTOOD.  
CG: IS GAMZEE OK?  
PP: he's cool. he was good with it now, be good with the next time too.  
CG: IS THIS HANDS-OFF STRATEGY OF YOURS HAVING THE RIGHT EFFECT? IS THERE EVEN A POINT TO IT? YOU COULD BE STRINGING OUT THE PROBLEM RATHER THAN FIXING IT. WE ALREADY KNOW WHAT WORKS IN SITUATIONS LIKE THIS AND GIVING HIM THE COOL UPNOD FROM A HEALTHY DISTANCE IS NOT IT.  
CG: LIKE ARE YOU SURE.  
CG: TRY FOR A FISTBUMP AT LEAST.  
CG: IT IS ACTUALLY A RECOGNISABLY NICE THOUGHT DRIVING THIS IMPULSE AT KEEPING YOUR DISTANCE, CONSIDERING THE METHODS WE HAVE AVAILABLE TO US. I APPRECIATE THAT.  
CG: BUT YOU SERIOUSLY HAVE TO BE STANDING AS TALL AS A GOD ATOP A SMUGNESS PYRAMID OF ABSOLUTE CERTITUDE THAT BEING NICE HAS ANYTHING LIKE A POINT.  
CG: IT HAS TO FUCKING WORK AS A METHOD TO KEEP HIM CALM, THAT IS WHAT WE HAVE TO FOCUS ON HERE. IF IT SEEMS TOO EASY I CAN'T HELP BUT TAKE THE HISTORY OF EXISTENCE INTO ACCOUNT AND CONCLUDE THAT IT PROBABLY IS.  
PP: hold up i'll tell him you are dying to know  
  


Bro had pure _What is_ with _this guy_ sending near-literal shivers up his spine. CG's fantasies of having a point were escaping the dude's reach so fast they'd left the sound barrier far behind and he didn't notice it, but Bro had to keep playing the audience to those fantasies and every attendant tantrum, since they came attached to all the useful information he got.

"CG - Karkat, right? He really wants to know if you're OK."

 _Ping - ping - ping - ping - ping!_ The Pesterchum alert was going nuts.

Gamzee began to eat his spoon. The look in his still-watery eyes said he wished it was the phone, plus chat programmes in general, so it probably wasn't just because the bowl was cleaned out.

"Did he want to know in that way? With you speaking explicit on the concern from an invertebrother's side." _Eeeeeeech_ , went the chewed-on metal. "There's an occurance happening in my pan as how he'd ask me, myself, the why and what the fucks, if it was up and being that he wanted me to know of the asking."

"Here's a fact to take forward," Bro said. "I'm not 'bout to be having your drama for you. Are you picking up the slack with this or what? Somebody's got to inform your bro about the wonders of therapy or yoga or the faithful ol' count to ten and take a deep breath method."

The ensuing silence was broken by another _ping!_ and a corresponding grinding _CHOMP_ of enamel on metal.

"Go to sleep or something. That was the next assumed step in the plan."

Off Gamzee fucked, doing the next best thing to flashstepping to go hide in the bedroom.

PP: he's still cool with everything.  
PP: in related news: chill out.   
  
\-- puppetPeddler [PP] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

Gamzee had run (and rendered his spoon reasonably fit for shankkind) because of the friend, instead of from Bro.

That would do, probably.


End file.
